"Let's rake leaves. It's cool under the trees."
"That's jes' 'zactly what we'll do, Dick." Beth tossed off her hat and caught up her rake.
And how they raked! Not only leaves, but grass, roots and all, came up.
"By the time they finish, the yard will look as though a cyclone had struck it," laughed Wilhelmina.
"That doesn't matter one bit just so they are happy and out of mischief. Wasn't Uncle wonderful to think of such a thing for them to do?"
"I'm only afraid it's too good to last very long, Mary. They will soon get tired of such hard work."
Wilhelmina was right. After a few minutes under the trees, Dick and Berta threw down their rakes and went to sweep cobwebs from the railing of the porch; but Beth's fear of spiders kept her at the leaves, and she coaxed Jack to stay with her. At the end of a half hour, Wilhelmina again went to the window. "Didn't I tell you, Mary? Not one of them in sight. They are up to some mischief, mark my words. They are too quiet for any good to come of it."
"But what mischief can they possibly get into in the yard, Wilhelmina? Tom always closes the barn doors when he leaves it, and there is no way for them to hurt themselves. They have just found something to do around at the back of the house."
In one sense, Mary was right. The little ones had found something to do. But if she had known what that something was, she would not have gone about her work with such a light heart. She had many, many things to learn about the lively little sisters who had so suddenly come into her life again; and Wilhelmina, who knew very well what four-year-olds can be up to, chuckled at the thought of the surprises they would give Mary. Then she sniffed the air anxiously. "Mary, I smell smoke! I told you something is wrong!"
She ran from the room and down the back stairs, with Mary at her heels. But Liza in the kitchen had caught sight of the blaze down in the corner between the barn and the fence and had hurried out on the back porch. They heard her shouting, "Git away fum dah! Git away fum dat fiah, yo' heah me!" And before they reached the kitchen, she had run down the steps, and snatching up a carriage robe that lay airing on the grass, she rushed toward the children, who were clapping their hands and jumping about as near as possible to the burning rubbish. They did not hear Liza's shouts, nor did they notice what she had seen—a tiny flame leap out and catch the edge of the ruffle on Berta's little starched apron. Swiftly it crept along until a frightened cry from Beth warned Berta of her danger.